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Image from page 155 of “Emblems, divine and moral” (1812)

Image from page 155 of “Emblems, divine and moral” (1812)
Healing Arts
Identifier: emblemsdivinemor00quarl
Title: Emblems, divine and moral
Year: 1812 (1810s)
Authors: Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644
Subjects: Emblems Emblem books, English
Publisher: London : Printed at the Chiswick Press by C. Whittingham
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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Text Appearing Before Image:
our guilt;Thou seest not what thou mayst, but what thou wilt:The hand that formd us is enforcd to beA screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spyAn open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye;Or if that wound be closd, that passage beDenyd between thy gracious eye and me,Yet view the scar; that scar will countermandThy wrath: O read my fortune in thy hand. 148 E3IBJ,EMS. BOOK 3. S. Chrys. Horn. iv. in Joan.Fools seem to abound in wealth, when theywant all things; they seem to enjoy happiness,when indeed they are only most miserable; nei-ther do they understand that they are deluded bytheir fancy, till they be delivered from their folly. S. Greg, in 3Ior.By so much the more are we in ardly foolish,by how much we strive to seem outwardly wise. EpiG. 2.Rebellious fool, what has thy folly done?Controlld thy God, and crucifyd his Son?How sweetly has the Lord of life deceivd thee!Thou sheddst his blood, and that shed blood hassavd thee. EMBLE3IS. 119

Text Appearing After Image:
PSALM VI. 2. Have mercy, Lord, upon me, for I am weak; OLord, heal me, for my bones are vexed. SOUL. JESUS. Soul. Ah Son of David,help. Jes.AVhatsinful cryImplores the son of David ? Soul. It is I.Jes. Who art thou ? Soul. Oh! a deeply woundedbreastThats heavy laden, and would fain have rest. IjO emblems. book 3. Jes. I have no scraps, and dogs must not be fed,Like household children, with the childrens bread. Soul. True, Lord; yet tolerate a hungry whelpTo lick their crumbs: O Son of David, help. Jes. Poor soul, what ailst thou? Soul. O Iburp, I fry,I cannot rest, I know not where to fly,To find some ease; I turn my blubberd faceFrom man to man; I roll from place to placeT avoid my tortures, to obtain relief.But still am doggd and haunted with my grief:My midnight tonnents call the sluggish light.And, when the mornings come, they woo the night. Jes. Surcease thy tears, and speak thy free desires. Soul. Quench, quench my flames, and suagethose scorching fires. Jes. Canst thou believe

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